


Space Case

by kittymsmith



Series: Random Snippets that are Hopefully Funny of Two Dorks In Love: Sherlock and Molly [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute?, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Molly Being Sweet, Sherlock's also pretty sweet, Stargazing, Sweet, gotta go to scotland to solve a case, sherlock doesn't know things, yeah its cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymsmith/pseuds/kittymsmith
Summary: After a case in Scotland comes to an end, Molly finds out why Sherlock loves knowing nothing about space.





	Space Case

**Author's Note:**

> Had quite a bit of fun with this one. Just some sweet stuff with stars because of stars.

Molly half stumbled to the bed and fell on her back. “ _Ugh_ , I can’t believe how hot it is.”

Sherlock, usually so careful with undressing, especially considering the price of his clothes (which he did consider, however briefly) hooked his thumbs under his shirt and pulled it, his vest, tie, and jacket all off over his head in one motion and let them drop to the floor in a heap of posh fabric that Molly thought strangely resembled Jack, his dear border terrier wisely left with Mrs. Hudson on this trip to Scotland.

“Think John’s alright?” Molly sat up on her elbows, appreciating Sherlock’s oh so fit physique as he rapidly texted the Lestrade.

“Fine.” He kept texting till he was done, then looked up. “He texted while we were hiding behind the bin. Got out fine, going to visit some Uni friends that are in town.”

Molly raised an eyebrow and sat up, beginning to lean over to unstrap her heels but Sherlock got there first-always thought she was too slow with them. Reality was she knew if she was just a second behind the acceptable speed he’d just take them off for her, so she was often a second behind. “He has friends in Glasgow?”

“He has friends in every town in the UK,” Sherlock gestured with his hands, high heel in either, the loose straps flinging around. “Drop him in the middle of the desert, twenty minutes later and he’ll be out for a pint with a camel.”

Molly laughed, and Sherlock gave a cheeky little grin. She stood up, wincing a bit at her sore feet. She’d never been the best in heels, but Sherlock insisted they were essential to the case-turned out they were, as the color and style was some sort of complicated code she didn’t understand but ended up signaling the serial killing drug lord/mariachi singer it was safe to start his performance. In the end John had led chase away and she and Sherlock had gotten the killer trapped in a cellar before making their own run for it. Probably a few minutes and the police would have him and he’d be transferred to London.

In the meantime, she tapped Sherlock on the shoulder, who smoothly turned, bent as he unzipped her dress and came back up with his clothes, which he laid over the back of a chair. She slipped out and looked at him. “Wanna have sex?”

He blinked, looking her over, eyes half-lidded. “Mm. Frankly, I’m hungry.”

She raised both eyebrows. “Really? Haven’t heard that since John swapped your and Mrs. Hudson’s cigarettes.”.

His face twitched as he remembered that. He wasn’t fond of _soothers_. “Mm. I haven’t eaten in almost four days.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Sherlock! Oh, you were doing so well.”

He waved his hand again. She realized now how tired he really looked. Cases invigorated him-but as always, he was still human. “Oh, please don’t start. Or we will have sex instead of dinner.”

She snorted. “Mhm. Well just go on and get your trousers-the cotton ones, I don’t want to listen to you complain about the heat again.”

He gave a mumbling affirmation. Molly took this her signal to shower and dress, however disappointing it was. She was hungry too, hadn’t eaten since noon and it was nearly ten, but she was sort of banking on room service. She threw on a loose white and blue striped dress she was quite fond of and some sandals. Sherlock came out of the bathroom looking refreshed and wearing a rarely seen white button up without vest or jacket. Molly’s interest must have been obvious because he smirked. “Figured, since I’m making you wait.”

She slowly grinned. “You tease.”

He winked while throwing his head, so his curls bounced dramatically. “Always.”

She laughed while shaking her head, gently taking his hand and pulling him along out of the hotel. “Silly detective.”

“I’m not silly,” he protested immediately.

“Ah, right. Ridiculous.”

He nodded once. “Thank you.”

Outside the air was balmy out of formal clothes. Molly thought she looked rushed; her hair was damp and frizzing and she’d only just realized she hadn’t wiped the makeup off her eyes properly, looking like an exhausted university student. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked spiff. Confident, casual gait, clothes that always fit him just right (he didn’t even go to a tailor, he just knew what to buy and how to tuck it) and hair falling in that sort of stylish mess that happens when freshly washed curls are combined with humidity. Molly was positively jealous. But she had been the one he asked to, “um, go do uh, something, uh, romantically, with those intentions, the romantic ones” and he was holding _her_ hand near midnight in Glasgow after a dramatic espionage mission, so she was at least a little confident. Granted, she’d always be jealous of the curls.

They wandered around a while. They didn’t really talk, comfortable silence was common with them, but when Sherlock pointed out a small hole in the wall that he knew was good because of how full the corkboard under the overhang was, they went in and ended up seated on a back veranda. They might have ordered alcohol, which neither ever did much, especially Sherlock, but all the place had was wine Molly couldn’t pronounce, and they both hated wine, so they just had water. Molly looked at the street below them. It was the old cobblestone kind, path slightly winding and uneven, warm in the orange of the streetlamps. It reminded her of a fairytale. In a moment, she’d see something she couldn’t believe, and she’d have to follow it. She’d never forget the adventure.

“Beautiful.”

Molly just barely heard him. Sherlock had his head back, looking straight towards the sky. The stars were especially bright tonight and plentiful. She could see Orion's belt, and Ursa Major, which she hadn’t realized was out in July but was happy about it. It had been her Dad's favorite, she'd always been partial to Herculese. Curiously she looked at Sherlock. He was still staring up; part of her wanted to ask a question, but he was so…quiet. She let him sit there and stare until the waiter came for their orders. “I…thought you didn’t care about space.”

He rolled his eyes like someone had asked this same question and it was still as stupid. “I don’t find the knowledge of it necessary in my work. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate its beauty.”

“Mm.” She nodded, playing with her fork. “You really don’t know anything?”

“No.”

She furrowed her brow. “Do we go around the sun, or does the sun go around us?”

“I told you, I don’t know.” He shrugged. John had warned her once he _literally knew nothing_ , but Jesus. She was sort of surprised it hadn’t come up before. He looked off the veranda, but towards the sky above the buildings. “And don’t bother telling me, I’ll just delete it.”

“I won’t,” She said softly. She put her hand over his. Slipped her fingers under and ran her thumb over his knuckles. He squeezed gently and breathed deeply. It’d gotten cooler, just slightly. Flowerboxes overflowing with ivy housed a few crickets, chirping. The only other sounds were that of the few patrons besides themselves, and the occasional posse of whooping young men who had nowhere to go after the bars closed. A couple cars. It was weirdly peaceful for a big city, especially compared to London. Their food came and they ate, chatting a little about the case and if there was one up next in the roster.

Eventually, they were done eating but when they got up to leave Sherlock went to the veranda edge and leaned over, still looking up. It was so peculiar to Molly, his fascination. Sherlock was rarely fascinated by anything else than a case. She leaned beside him, elbow to elbow, and was quiet a moment. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes,” he whispered, hands loosely clasped over the edge.

She found herself whispering back. “I know you don’t know anything about it, that you don’t want to. That you’d delete it. But I’ve never seen you give anything you delete a glance, let alone a stare.”

He leaned his head over, resting it on her shoulder, still slightly damp curls cool on her neck. “I’m about to be quite honest with you, Molly.”

“I hope.”

She could feel his cheek move briefly when he smiled. “I know everything. Everything I could ever need to know, I do. I’ve a mental map of London better than anything a cartographer could or would be able to put to paper. I know every cigarette brand, every color and what year it was in fashion, car models, favorite vacation spots related to socio-economic status, drugs and their effects-I mean I just…you know.”

“I know.”

“See…there’s very little I _don’t_ know. And if I don’t know it, but I should, I learn it, and remember it. Mostly, if I don’t know, it is unnecessary, or boring. Like Madonna, whoever that is.” He inhaled slowly, stuttering once, then exhaled smoothly. “Knowing everything makes surprise hard and wonder impossible. I’ve felt true wonder three times since I was eight.” He put his hand up in front of them, finger popping up with each statement, “first, when John told me I was his best friend.”

“I recall he said you short-circuited.”

“Shut up.” He said with a little laugh. “Two, the second time you ever said I love you to me.” He paused and lifted his head to look at her. His cheeks were flushed slightly. Molly kissed him, lingering a moment before pulling away gently, their faces close enough she could feel the heat of his breath. “Three,” he whispered, tapping her lower lip with his fingers. “Space. One, continuous wonder. It’s one thing I know nothing about, absolutely nothing, Molly, and _I don’t have to_. I don’t have to ruin that…wonder. I don’t know what stars are made of. I don’t know how old they are, how they formed, where they came from or why. I couldn’t tell you a single constellation, where the North Star is, or any of the planets. I just know the Milky Way is a galaxy, whatever that is. Don’t know which way the planets go or how many there are. If you asked me to deduct if the moon landing was fake, I couldn’t, because I know nothing about the moon.” He rested his forehead against hers. She felt breathless. He nuzzled her cheek just slightly and grinned. “I’m an idiot, Molly. It’s quite refreshing.”

“O-oh, Sherlock…” She was holding back a laugh because she didn’t want to move away. She tilted her head slightly and kissed him. “You make being an idiot sound romantic.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, really? In that case, wanna have sex on the veranda?”

A bark of laughter leaped from her chest and she whacked him, flipping her head to the side and snorting. “You _idiot_.”

His eyes sparked with some special kind of Sherlock madness. The half dozen people outside with them were all staring. Molly wanted to leap off the edge but she also sort of wanted to take him up on the offer. “Ah, suppose the hotel will do?””

Her laughter had turned into stupid “why am I still laughing like this” wheezes and she shook her head, whacking his arm repeatedly. “Oh goodness, oh goodness…” she gasped, “you idiot.”

“So, yes?”

“Yes.”

She was still having fits of giggles as they walked out. The streets were utterly deserted but for a few meandering cars. She looked up at the sky again, then got an idea. “You know what, I’ve got a better idea.”

“Better than sex?”

“Better than sex. For now.”

He looked perplexed. “We’ve already eaten.”

She snorted. “Just follow me.”

He did. She dragged him along until a cab turned up, got in and leaned forward, had a quiet chat and then sat back down. Sherlock, interested, sat back and waited patiently for whatever it was that was going on. It was midnight by the time they stopped in a large field, grass for miles. Sherlock looked at Molly. “I have no idea where this is going.”

“Liar.”  
“I have four ideas where this is going.”

“How many of them have you end up dead?”  
“Two.” He said, sounding curious. Molly smiled. “Never mind, six, and I die in three.” He said, amused. Molly got out and came around and opened his door. She felt positively brilliant.

“Well lucky for you, Mr. Holmes, it’s one of the other three. The the not dying ones, I mean.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows. “My interest is piqued.”

Molly grinned and held out both hands. Sherlock turned and took them. She glanced up briefly. “I figured, since I’m making you wait.”

He cocked his head to the side, but from his angle he could only see the cab roof.

Molly kissed his hands and pulled him out. Not wasting words, not needing to, she flipped his head up by the chin, delighting in the small gasp from his lips.

Sherlock wouldn’t know it, but July was a prime time in the UK for stargazing. Furthermore, Scotland’s comparative lack of pollution made the skies crystal clear; and, beyond that, if one asked a local cabbie to drive to a deserted field about 20 minutes outside of Glasgow one would be standing in this predestined field with someone they loved at midnight, awash in a near paranormal glow as the entire galaxy shined down on them.

And Sherlock wouldn’t know it, but Molly was in awe, too. Of him, and of the stars, and of the moon far off. She was so in awe that when he sat down in the cool grass she followed him, and leaned her head on his shoulder and, for a moment, deleted everything she knew about space, about planets and stars and galaxies, and marveled with him at an inexplicable, unfathomable, unknowable beauty millions of miles away.


End file.
